


The Boyking

by Idreamofhazel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Bisexual Female Character, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Brother Feels, F/M, Morality, Romantic Angst, Soulmates, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel
Summary: A huntress has set out to end the reign of the new king of hell. But killing a Winchester is never easy, and she might find that Sam isn’t who she thought he was…Series warnings: high angst, character deaths, canon-typical violence, fighting, blood and injuries, themes of parental abuse/neglect, dubious morals, mild language. This is hell after all.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello?”

“You’re alive.” 

The huntress glanced around, trying to shake off the daze that came from being unconscious. Dark, creepy alley - check. Headache - double check. Gun tucked in waistband and blade strapped to leg - check. She frowned.

“Or maybe you’re not.”

Gordon’s voice brought her back, typical lack of emotion in his tone. He hadn’t called because he cared; he’d called to see if she’d succeeded or managed to get dead. Or possessed - which, depending on the perspective, might’ve been worse.

“Alive and kicking, just bruised,” she replied. And it came with a bruised ego, she thought - seemed she hadn’t even got a shot off. She pushed herself up from the cold asphalt, eyeing the shadows as she added, “And don’t worry, nobody’s hitching a ride.”

“You’ll forgive me if I spike your drink with holy water anyway next time I see you. I’ll even spring for a double. The whiskey, not the–”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“And what else did you get? The special of the day?”

“Full plate,” she muttered, and rubbed the lump on the back of her head. “Just add me to the list.”

It had been their M.O. lately, how demons weren’t bothering with trying to take down hunters. They weren’t seeking hunters out, either - it seemed they’d only engage when the two factions happened to stumble upon each other, and assuming the hunters didn’t get the upper hand, the demons simply rendered their opposition unconscious. The only injuries would come from the tussle. Hunters were walking away more or less unscathed.

And she - and Gordon, and others - had an idea why.

“It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve heard from you,” he said.

“I didn’t feel like checking in.”

“I can help you, you know. I know people.”

She made her way to the end of the alley, ready to get back to the safety of the streetlights. “We’ve been through this before. When you brought this idea to me, and remember, _you_ brought it to _me_ …” A couple walked by, eyeing her suspiciously, so she lowered her voice. “…it was because you know I’ll get the job done.”

“Yes, and we both have the same commitment to seeing this through. But I _am_ offering my help. Teaming up, if you will.”

She laughed. “I don’t _team up_. Look, if you have some information or something, I’ll be glad to hear it. Otherwise, adios.”

“Do you even have a weapon that can kill his royal highness?”

She answered through grit teeth. “I’ll _get_ one.”

Gordon sighed. “Your pride is going to hurt you, thinking you can see this through all by yourself. Next time you might not be so lu–”

She hung up, shoving the phone back in her pocket.

_Luck_. Luck had nothing to do with it. At least, it _hadn’t_. She’d be lying to herself to say having her own encounter with these hunter-sparing demons hadn’t shaken her up. The apocalypse was a joke to some, a legitimate threat to others; she had been somewhere in between before tonight.

Her phone pinged with a text. Gordon just didn’t know when to quit. _Meet me at Harvelle’s on Saturday at 8 if you want information._

She didn’t reply; he knew she wouldn’t refuse the information, but she wasn’t about to let on she’d taken the bait so quickly. And he’d have to do a little waiting around on Saturday, fashionably late, and all that. But right now, there was a bigger priority: the sign for Li’s Chinese Takeout had caught her eye, the red neon sign blinking and calling to her grumbling stomach.

The inside of the restaurant was nearly empty, save for a couple patrons and the one employee behind the front desk. She fell into a booth stiffly, the aches from the fight starting to kick in. The woman behind the counter appeared at her table, smiled and handed her a menu before her face changed to concern. She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something, before she closed her mouth and turned away to get the water.

The huntress fidgeted with her straw wrapper while she waited for food, wishing she had a way to get drunk and pass out at the motel. She didn’t want to spend time dwelling on the fact that this wasn’t the first time demons had escaped her in the past few months. The plan was supposed to go like this: deliver a nice beating, maybe a couple bullets or stabs for emphasis, make sure they understood they were good and captured, and then would come the part where she’d… _persuade_ them to give up information on their king. But, fate wasn’t on her side. The two demons she had managed to capture were eager to be sacrificed, and once they realized the only thing in their future was exorcism, they almost gleefully proclaimed, “Long live Sam Winchester, king of hell!”

Sam Winchester. It was a name she knew well. He and his brother and father were some of the best hunters, she had been told so more times than she could count, but she’d never met any of the Winchesters. The father was dead, but the brother was still around, still hunting. She laughed to herself, imagining _that_ family reunion.

_Now_ when she heard Sam Winchester’s name, it was in hushed whispers. He had fallen from grace, the hunting community’s own personal Judas. No one spoke too loudly or boldly about him, fearing the judgment of other hunters, or perhaps even the king’s wrath, rumored to be administered through psychic powers.

She called bullshit on the abilities, and feared neither judgment nor wrath - because when the end came, she would have the pleasure of seeing the light leave his eyes.

The hostess arrived, placed her steaming lo mein and egg drop soup directly in front of her, giving her the look of a concerned grandmother once again before she walked away. When the first bite of pork and broccoli hit her tongue, she sighed loudly enough for one of the other customers to turn and stare. She glared back, then returned to her plate, scarfing the food down. And the warmth that began to settle over her brought her mind to Nadia.

The last time she had enjoyed a sit-down meal had been two years ago. The two of them had taken down a werewolf and even though the hunt had been more exhausting than usual, Nadia suggested eating in a proper restaurant. She’d thought it was silly, but humored her. Later, she would say she considered that night their first real date.

For the huntress, it was even more - it was the first genuine connection she’d felt with another human being. Gone was the dull ache of hatred, the feeling of abandonment, it simply couldn’t exist with all the acceptance and love in Nadia’s eyes, in her laugh, in her touch, in the way she’d dive between her and danger on hunts, never a hesitation. But that was then.

The demon who’d killed her… well, it had been a madhouse that night. They had smoked out before she had the chance to do anything. The cold had returned, the space she’d occupied now empty, new pain layering itself over old. Hunting alone was never easy; on the other hand, it was the easiest way of all.

The memories made her stomach roll. Maybe eating out had been a bad idea. She left a few bites of soup in the bowl and took the ticket up to the desk to pay, finding the hostess’ concern had deepened. A glimpse of herself in the mirror behind her showed dirt all over her face, not to mention a small, bloody gash above her eyebrow, and she smiled awkwardly.

“Uh, it’s fine. I fall down a lot.”

“You should get that checked at a hospital,” the hostess said, taking the ticket and cash, pursing her lips as she punched buttons on the register; the sharp scolding of the _clicks_ and _clacks_ made the huntress wince.

“My mom was a nurse,” she lied. “I’ll be able to clean it up.” She forced another smile as she handed her the change.

“Of course,” she replied, leaning down briefly to grab something below the counter, clear disbelief in her tone. When straightened, she asked, “Fortune cookie?” She held out the clear packaged treat in the palm of her hand.

She hesitated. She’d never really cared for them, and the whole idea of fortunes was silly. But she took it anyway when she saw the hopeful look on the woman’s face.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, stuffing both it and the change in her pocket, leaving quickly, ready to get out from under watchful eyes.

The second she’d kicked the door to the motel room closed, the jacket and the rest of her wrecked clothing were stripped away, leaving a trail to the shower. The cut on her forehead was minor, it would heal on its own, and the bruised ribs were nothing new, just another day-in-the-life. A few ibuprofen and a clean t-shirt later, she was flopping backwards onto the thin mattress. And she was reminded of that damn cookie when she heard the _pop_ of the plastic wrapper.

Pulling the jacket from under her, she fished it out and muttered a few curses at the crumbs now lining the pocket and sticking to her hand. The cookie shattered even more when it hit the bottom of the trash can, but she paused before completely turning away, giving the now-freed, bright white, curled slip of paper another glance. Maybe fortune would favor her tonight after all. And so, after retrieving it and climbing into bed, she read it.

_The object of your desire comes closer._

She made a scoffing sound, scrunching up the paper and tossing it away from her, then turning off the light, pulling the covers up to her ears, thinking about the absurdity of it. The cookie wasn’t altogether wrong; there _was_ an object of her desire. She could picture Sam Winchester’s head on the proverbial platter clearly in her mind. But after tonight, that vision seemed further away than it had the day before. For now, she focused on the black behind her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

* * *

In a place far removed from earthly customs, such as take-out, motels, and hot showers, two demons hid in the shadows of a stone hall, light cast only by the fire of torches. One was a factory-produced male, broad, all muscle. The other, a dark-haired female, clearly in charge.

She stood inches from his face, her voice hushed but urgent. “Follow my lead, you understand? _That’s_ the deal.”

His back was pressed against the rough stone, but he attempted to push off the wall. “No, not after tonight, I’m not taking the fall for you anymore!”

“Quiet! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Ruby, is something wrong?” From the shadows, a deep voice spoke.

“Sam! I didn’t know you were–” He stepped forward, attention noticeably on the aggressive stance of his two demons, and she caught herself, “Apologies - your majesty, we didn’t realize you were here.”

Sam ignored her formality. “What’s the status on tonight?”

“It…didn’t go as planned.”

“Again? I thought you had this handled.”

“I do, Sam, but,” Ruby stepped forward, appearing less culpable, more sympathetic, “We ran into trouble, a hunter who’s out for blood. She delayed us.”

Sam eyeballed the other, more disheveled demon in the room. “Yes I can see that. Do we need to keep an eye on this hunter since she is capable of delaying the best general I have?”

She blinked, slightly startled at his tone, but recovered quickly. “I would be glad to, sir. I can have one of the teams assigned-”

“No. I want you to do this job personally.”

“I hardly think she’s worth the–”

“ _Do_ as I ask.”

Ruby lowered her head; she knew better than to question her king in front of the lower-tier. “Of course, sir.”

“You can go.” Sam waved the other demon off.

He nodded, scurrying away. Once they were free of the extra body, Sam leaned against the nearest wall, stress bending his body and clenching his jaw. Ruby knew what to do, approaching him with a soft hand on his bicep.

He brushed her off. “Not now.”

She scowled, retracting her hand. “I had hoped to catch you in a better mood. Guess that’s a luxury nowadays.”

Sam came off the wall, his face in hers, the intimidation unintentional this time. “It is when we keep failing! This can’t keep happening, you know how important this is!”

She matched his stance, almost came up against him. “Yes, I do, which is why I have all of our forces deployed twenty-four-seven, just like _you_ asked.”

Sam shook his head, stepping away. “I have to try something else, something our enemy won’t expect.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Do we need to call another meeting?”

“No, not with the others.” He stopped and turned around, half his body covered by the dancing candlelight, his eyes glazed over with the preoccupation of delicate plotting, “I have someone else in mind.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had been going at it with the demon for a solid ten minutes before he gained any ground.

But first, he had to go and stumble over broken furniture, throw a sloppy punch, watch it get dodged, and find himself pushed against the wall of the motel room, the demon’s forearm against his neck.

“I’m not here to _fight_ , okay? I have a message. From the king,” the demon said, spitting in Dean’s face as he did so.

It had been a long night, a grueling ghoul hunt and all the dirt and guts that come with it, and Dean had had enough -- so much so he didn’t even bother to shoot back, _say it, don’t spray it._ He shoved himself, and the demon, off the wall, slamming him onto the small table, pinning him down -- and this time it was Dean who was on top.

“I don’t recognize any _king_. I only recognize that there’s a demon in my room.” Dean pulled his demon blade from underneath his jacket, placing the jagged edge against his enemy’s neck.

Beads of sweat began forming on the demon’s hairline. “Whether you _recognize_ him or not, he still has a message for you.”

“What is it, then?”

“Get off me and I’ll give it to you.”

Dean gave the blade more pressure, stopping just before he broke skin. “Give it to me, and I’ll let you go.”

The demon laughed at the absurdity of his situation, his lip twitching as he waited for Dean to change his mind. “Ok _fine_ \- inside pocket.”

Dean kept his knife pressed against the demon’s neck. He slipped a hand inside the dress coat, and from the inner pocket, he pulled out a letter. He noted the front of the weighty envelope. “He’s got his servants wearing monkey suits and a wax seal for his letters now. Isn’t that _regal_?”

The demon squirmed under Dean’s arm. “Our deal?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean set the letter on the table. He lifted the knife off the demon’s neck and plunged it into his chest. “You’re free to go.”

As the body slid to the floor, Dean picked up the envelope again. It was heavy in his hand, the paper thick and textured. The seal was shiny even in the dim light of the room, the color of blood, bearing a crown and five-point star fashioned from delicate strands of barbed wire. After a quick swipe of the bloodied blade across the demon’s jacket, Dean slid the clean tip under the fold, popping the wax away, and removing the note, sinking down onto the bed as he began to read the words, written in a scrawl he knew well.

_Dean,_  

_I realize it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken, but I hope to change that. I’ll be sending someone to get you in five days._

_I need your help._

_S. W._

Sam hadn’t asked for his help in, what - two years? Dean thought they were finally over it, the back-and-forth. Sam asking him to help with something Dean knew full well he - or one of his minions - could handle, Dean saying no, Sam letting it go, only for it to happen again in a matter of months. After the first few times his escorts had returned bloody and broken - or when they didn’t return at _all_ \- Sam knew to send more than one or two. So Dean would play along, allow himself to be blindfolded and taken to the most recent hideout, he’d say no to Sam’s face, Sam wouldn’t argue, and he’d be taken back.

So he wondered what could be happening on Sam’s end, what would motivate him _now,_ after all this time, to ask for help, knowing full and well Dean’s position on the whole matter. 

He paced, debating for a few moments before he pulled out his phone, dialing the number of one of the few people he could trust, and was greeted by a familiar, gruff voice.

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Heya Cas, how are you?”

“Knee-deep in, how do you say it? Cow feces?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Dean said, letting himself smile for the first time weeks.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“I’ve been wondering, when can we ditch the phones, and talk face-to-face?”

“Is this a face-to-face matter?”

“I don’t know, I…”

“Is it Sam?”

“Well, yeah, it is.”

Castiel’s voice deepened. “Maybe we _should_ meet somewhere.”

“No, no -  I don’t want you on angel radar again. It’s just...” Dean trailed off briefly, collapsing into the unbroken arm chair. “He sent me a letter. He said he needs help. He wants to see me.”

“When does he want to meet?”

“In five days.”

Dean waited, the only response being silence on the other end. “Cas?”

“Do you have a choice in whether you go or not?”

“I mean, I guess. Why?”

“I don’t think you should go, not this time.”

Dean sat up. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

“I know Sam is your brother, and you will want to help him, but the timing of this is… complicated.”

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t--- It’s not safe to say.”

“Meet me somewhere then. Let’s set a date.”

“I don’t know if I can within the next five days.”

“Jesus, Cas. Then what I am supposed to do?”

“I can’t make this decision for you. But if you do decide to go, _watch your back_.”

“What is that suppo---”

“Look, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll call you again in a few days, when it's safe to do so.”

“Wait, Cas---” Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and saw that the angel had hung up. “Dammit.”

Dean stood, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He glanced at the demon, his white shirt soiled with blood, and his face bruised from the fight. Was _that_ who he was supposed to watch out for?

Never having let go of the letter, he lifted it to his face, examining the penmanship again.

_I need your help._

Dean stood still, weighing his options, the letter in one hand and nothing in the other, wondering what outcomes _this_ decision would bring. Sam and Dean’s choices always seemed to pay off in the end - at least they _had_ until about two years ago… until Dean had died. Castiel’s warning wasn’t lost on him.

Bringing the letter across the room with him, he shook open his duffle on the bed and placed the note at the bottom. Packing up his mess, he covered the parchment with the rest of his belongings, being sure of two things: one, he needed to be far away when room service checked in the next morning, and two, Sam would find him no matter how far he traveled.

 

* * *

 

Arriving at Harvelle’s, nine o’clock on the dot, she scanned the smoke-filled dive, seeing him through the throngs of chattering hunters sitting at the bar with a shot of whiskey, untouched. She maneuvered around leather jackets and raucous laughter, plopped herself on the barstool next to his, and downed her shot.

“Spiked?” she asked, even though the slightly weakened liquor told her the answer. She set the glass down, having passed his holy water test, then held out her arms as if to say _ta-da!_ “Just me.”

Gordon shrugged, then said, “Hey, Dallas.”

“Gordon.”

“How’d you get such a unique name, anyway?”

She just looked at him.

“Where you were born? Grew up?”

She gave him a _look_.

Gordon chuckled. “Right. Trust no one. I keep forgetting.”

“I’m getting bored.”

Gordon checked his watch. “You’ve been here less than five minutes.”

“And I bet you’ve been here at least an hour. What’s with this crowd? Is it bingo night?”

Gordon turned on his stool. “You should listen more closely. I’m sure even _you_ can tell they’re more paranoid than usual.”

“I was hoping to skip the espionage and hear it straight from you.”

“In time.” Gordon turned away and asked for two beers. The blonde bartender promptly placed the El Sols on the counter and popped the caps off. Gordon slid one over, then stood. “I like tables better." 

Dallas swung her legs around the stool at the same speed she rolled her eyes, and hopped off. Gordon led her to an empty table past the pool players.

“Ok,” she said once they were seated, “we’ve got our ice cold beers, our front row seats. What’s the score?”

Gordon leaned in. “You remember our conversation about the apocalypse?”

“Like a bad first date.”

“And do you remember who you ran into the other night?”

Dallas shifted her eyes to the floor, taking another swig before giving her answer. “I didn’t get names, barely remember the faces. All I know is they were doing something they didn’t want me to see.”

Gordon lowered his voice. “Samhain was risen that night.”

Now that name, _that name_ , was something Dallas recognized. “I take it that isn’t a good thing.” 

“No, it’s not. And you might’ve stopped it had you not given yourself away.”

Dallas pursed her lips, holding back her smartass comment before replying, “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Samhain was a seal, one seal out of sixty-six that must be broken in order for the apocalypse to happen.”

“Hmmm,” Dallas threw back a drink. “Makes sense, they’d said something about making sure the _rightful ruler of hell_ can reign. Apocalypse sure would do the trick.”

“Can I get either of you a refill?”

A woman now stood by their table, motioning to take the empty beer bottles.

Gordon leaned back in his chair, suddenly casual. “I could use another. Thank you, Ellen.”

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Ellen said, pointedly.

“Ellen here owns this bar,” Gordon said. “She and her husband opened it.”

“That was a long time ago, now I run this place with my daughter.”

“That’s real cute,” Dallas said, wishing she’d move on so they could get back to their conversation.

Ellen laughed. “Sure is. You two hearing what all these hunters are gossiping about?”

“We’re only here for Jo’s bartending,” Gordon said.

“Mhm,” Ellen hummed, clearly not buying it. “Let me know if you need anything.” She eyed Dallas before walking away.

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like you,” Dallas commented as she watched Ellen return to the bar.

“It doesn’t matter. I get the job done, same as her husband did, same as everyone else in this bar does. But we should probably talk somewhere else, there’s too many ears.”

“ _Whoa_ , I don’t think so. I came all the way here for this. You can tell me right now, or I’m gone.”

“Fine. Listen.” Gordon leaned in close again, looking around before speaking. “Word on the street is Dean Winchester got himself an invitation to hell.”

Dallas about let her beer slip from her fingers. “ _What?”_

“Shhh.” Gordon nodded his head to the side.

Ellen stood at the bar with her daughter, occasionally whispering, watching them carefully from across the room - and they didn’t seem to mind that she and Gordon had noticed, so Dallas followed Gordon’s lead, eased back in her chair, pretended to be relaxed.

“So you think there’s a connection? The seals, sparing hunters, big brother’s cruise down Styx?” she asked.

“Could be,” Gordon replied. “That’s where you come in.”

“Right, sure. Because I give a crap about them being a happy little family.”

“You should. Maybe that’s your ticket to the throne room.”

“ _Dean?_ ” she asked incredulously, and a little too loudly - several hunters nearby glanced over.

Gordon was visibly irritated. “We’re done here. I’ll text you.”

She stood. “I’ll be counting the seconds.”

She walked to the exit, feeling the eyes of Ellen, her daughter, and the eavesdropping hunters following her out the door, but kept her own eyes looking ahead, the picture of confidence, even though her mind was busy turning over the new development. She’d only just gotten back to the motel when her phone buzzed. _So much for counting seconds_ , she thought, and opened the text.

_Need more info, find out why._

Dallas thought of a number of ways she could respond to that, mostly commenting on how _crystal_ clear the message was. Then she had an idea, shooting back a text.

_What do you suggest I do? We don’t exactly have a direct line to him._

_We need to track him. I’ll see what I can find out._

Good. That would keep him busy, and buy her time to run an errand.

 

* * *

 

When Dallas told Gordon she’d get a weapon to kill Sam, she hadn’t been bluffing. She’d heard of Bela Talbot from some hunters awhile back and found out where she lived. Now she stood outside the collector’s front gate, facing the intercom buttons, debating, fingers hovering. The last thing she needed was to set off alarms or draw out watch dogs, but so far, there was no indication of either. And she didn’t have to debate long.

The gate was open.

Dallas gave it a gentle shove, began her trek up the driveway. The front door was ajar, knob and lock destroyed, hinges bent; someone - or some _thing_ \- very powerful had plowed right through it. She pulled out her gun, easing over the threshold, scanning her surroundings.

There was clear evidence of a struggle, from the overturned furniture to the smattering of bullet holes in the walls. A trail of blood was leading to the back door, but first she needed to find the source. And if it was what she expected… _So much for negotiating today_ , she thought.

Upstairs, several doors were open, and glances into the rooms revealed open drawers and closets, their contents strewn everywhere - the whole place had been ransacked. The last room, at the end of the hallway, was where the blood trail ended, a smear on the doorframe in the shape of fingers telling her Bela must’ve fought back, and hard. _Way to go, princess._

Bela’s office was in the same state as the rest, papers pulled from her desk now covering the floor, emptied files tossed aside.  Then there was the most intriguing part: the dealer’s prized merchandise had been pulled off the shelves and out of cabinets with no regard to their rarity or value; they were clearly after something specific. But whoever it was, they were long gone - and apparently they’d taken Bela with them.

Glass crunched under Dallas’ boots as she made her way to the wall safe, hoping the intruders hadn’t had their eye on _her_ prize, that Bela had kept it locked away, ideally in more ways than one. Sure enough, the safe was heavily warded, the large bronze handle covered in sigils, some that Dallas recognized, others that were foreign. And it was intact.  Bela’s uninvited guests must not have been human - _this_ was something they couldn’t bust their way through.

Luckily, warding meant nothing to a .45, and the spinning lock was pulverized with one shot.

The safe had more symbols on the interior, and one single item: a lacquered, rectangular, jet black box. Dallas held her breath as she opened it, mentally crossing her fingers, and then she exhaled, a smile coming to her face when she saw it. The long silver blade was cool to the touch, and heavier than she expected. Tossing the box aside, she gave it a test drive, twirling it in her hand before swiping into the air, jabbing a few times at an imaginary target. She stopped her practice when her phone vibrated - Gordon had delivered.

_He’s in Sioux Falls._

Dallas’ smiled widened. She had a location on Dean, she had her weapon, and all without hardly breaking a sweat. Maybe luck _did_ have something to do with it after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dallas was peeling rubber after a drive halfway across the country and back–by the time she landed in Sioux Falls that evening, she was praying to whoever would listen that Dean hadn’t left already. 

Car parked in a gravel lot, she walked through the entrance of the local watering hole; the only bar in town is where she’d be, too, if a trip to hell was looming over her horizon. The rusted hinges of the front door signaled to the few patrons inside that a newcomer had arrived. She scanned the interior, noticing the dusty jukebox and the historical photography on the walls, and ignoring the staring eyes of a grand total of four individuals inside–including the bartender.

“Can I help you?” 

Dallas looked to an older man in ball cap sitting at the bar. He quickly gave her a once over with his eyes. She’d seen that same look on many hunters, she’d worn it herself; he didn’t trust her.

She eased out of her eagerness, rolled her shoulders back while approaching the man and sitting beside him. “Hi there, maybe you can? I’m looking for someone.”

“I know just about everyone who lives and comes through here. I’ve never seen you before,” he said, pointedly.

Dallas gave the man a strained smile, trying to keep things polite. “I’m looking for a Dean Winchester, I heard he might be here.”

Dallas saw a quick reaction–shock, maybe, or suspicion–flash across his face before he resumed the stoic look. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Dallas was running out of time. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I’m…. in the same line of work as Dean. I got his name from a mutual acquaintance. I need his help with something. Something important.“

“Yeah, what’s the acquaintance’s name?”

Thinking quickly, Dallas spouted off a half-lie. “Ok–you caught me, I don’t know the person, but they gave me his name. Dean might as well be a celebrity in this line of work.”

The man didn’t disagree. 

“You must need help with something mighty important.” Despite the sympathy, the man’s face remained protective. “Well, I hate to tell you but he’s not here. You just missed him. Not sure when he’ll be back.”

She tried her best to hide the anger and disappointment that coursed rapidly through her body. “I see. Well, maybe I’ll stick around a few days and see if he shows up again. Thanks anyway.”

The man didn’t call after her as she stood and stalked out the bar, heading straight into the parking lot and stopping beside her car. She kicked at the gravel. 

“Dammit!” she yelled, a few pebbles popping off the side of her car with high-pitched clanks. There had been so many chances, and she missed every single one of them. She was beginning to think the universe didn’t want her to find Sam.

Dallas was digging her keys out of her pocket when she felt a hand at her back. It grabbed her shirt and yanked her backwards. She was thrown against a car behind her before she could blink, her head smacking a window. Temporarily blinded as she slid to the ground, she couldn’t make out the face of the figure that walked towards her.

The attacker’s boots crunched the gravel as they came to a stop, inches from her face.

“You’ve been a real pain in my ass, you know?” the woman said. 

Dallas rubbed the back of her head, confused. ”I’d apologize but I don’t seem to know who the hell you are.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“Let me guess, I killed someone you know.”

Dallas vision returned completely, just in time to see the woman flash her black eyes. “You’ve killed a few,” she said.

“It’s a small world?” Fear was beginning to grip Dallas. She couldn’t get to her weapon, pinned down the by the demon’s hold, and this demon wasn’t acting like the others, attacking her first. The demon crouched in front of her. “No?” she said with a shaky voice.

“I’m taking you on a trip,” the woman responded, and then began whispering words that were foreign to Dallas’ ears. Her eyes went wide before becoming heavy with sudden sleep, her eyelids falling slowly until they shut completely and she slumped over. The last thing she was aware of was being picked up, before even that sense went numb and she lost consciousness. 

* * *

As promised, five days after the letter, three escorts–Sam hadn’t forgotten–appeared at Dean’s motel room. Dean had prepared himself for the usual routine: barely a word exchanged, follow demons to the black car, be blindfolded, and sit on a silent ride to the latest hideout. But it seemed protocol had been changed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester. Are you ready to leave?”

Dean eyed the demon who stood in his doorway, and then focused on the two still standing by the car outside. No weapons were drawn, none of them gave him menacing stares. The calmness of the escorts would put anyone else at ease, but Dean’s hairs were standing straight on the back of his neck.

He gave his pockets, front and back, a pat down, checking for his gun. “Got my wallet, guess I’m good to go.” He flashed a fake smile.

“Right this way.”

Dean followed the demon to the car. One of the extra escorts opened his door and he slid in, ready to be blindfolded. He leaned forward to make it easier on them.

“King Samuel said it won’t be necessary this time, Mr. Winchester.”

And that, it seemed, was that.

The ride was silent, at least on Dean’s part; the demons exchanged a few chatty words with each other, and it was over within fifteen minutes. The driver rolled to a slow stop outside an abandoned factory, pointing at the crumbling brick on one side and the boarded up windows. The passenger nodded as if to say “Good enough.” 

_Good enough for a murder,_ Dean thought, and discreetly checked his gun again. 

After parking in the middle of the cracked pavement lot, Dean followed the entourage through rusted double doors at the front of the building. They stopped right inside the door, surveying the dilapidated foyer. All that remained was a desk with two legs broken on one side and junk scattered on the floor. 

One of the demons had a briefcase in hand. Crouching, he placed the object on the floor and removed a paint brush and jar of red liquid from inside. The other two cleared a space on the floor, moving dust and debris out of the way, and when they were finished, he painted a circle and symbols inside the cleared space. 

Dean didn’t recognize any of the markings. “Real pretty, Picasso,” he commented.

The demon stood, placed his tools back in the briefcase, and closed it with two clicks of the lock. With the case in hand, he turned to Dean. “All you have to do is stand in this circle with us and I’ll do the incantation. You won’t feel a thing.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Relax,” he continued, “The King wanted an easy way for you to get to hell, and since we don’t have teleportation abilities, we’re using magic.”

Dean sized them all up–their facial expressions, body language–all of which appeared neutral. “I’m armed,” he stated plainly.

“Naturally. Now, _please_ just step inside the circle. King Samuel is waiting.”

Dean didn’t like that the demon sounded annoyed, but against his better judgment, he did what he said anyway. The other minions followed, standing on either side of him, and the third in front of him. The incantation began, and light was building from the symbols until it crescendoed into a bright flash. When the light subsided, Dean no longer stood in an abandoned building. He was surrounded by stone walls stretching out to what seemed like infinity at his left and right, and a wide, wooden door at his front. He recognized the architecture of hell immediately. 

One of the escorts opened the large door, and inside, there was Sam, sitting in an armchair. His hand fell from his chin as if he had been contemplating a serious matter, but a smile formed on his face as he stood.

“Dean, I’m so glad you came.” Sam’s voice had lost all its innocence; he looked more and more regal each time Dean saw him.

Dean eyed the new suit. “I didn’t know this was a black-tie event.”

“Your clothes are fine.” Sam waved the henchmen off, and waited for the sound of the door gently shutting before beginning the conversation. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Dean followed Sam’s lead, taking the armchair next to him and resting stiffly on the velvet cushion. Dean took a second to look around the small, well-decorated sitting room.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your work. I thought five days would be enough time to finish up any jobs before I brought you here.” Sam stared eagerly at his brother. 

Dean’s eyes shifted to the floor, uncomfortable under Sam’s gaze and his own inability to adjust to the setting. “Uh, thanks.”

“I know everything is… different, this time around.”

Dean raised a brow. “Yeah? Doesn’t look like too much has changed to me.” 

There was an edge to Dean’s tone; Sam picked up on the bitterness easily, expected it even, yet the disdain continued to hurt despite knowing it would come. 

“I hoped maybe you would be open to seeing what I’ve done with the place.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped from Dean’s lips. “A grand tour? No thanks. Hell is hell.”

Sam opened his mouth, then promptly shut it again. Dean noticed the movement, how Sam was itching to say something on the tip of his tongue but held it back. He waited to give Sam the chance of divulging his reaction, but the gears seemed to shift in Sam’s mind, and his face revealed the change of focus. He fell more somber than frustrated, and more focused.

“What have you heard about the apocalypse?” he said. 

“Well, I don’t gossip with hunters, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So you _have_ heard of it.”

“I guess so, yeah but, like I said, I don’t gossip.”

Truth was, Dean had heard plenty of conspiracy theories from drunk, weary hunters about odd things happening on hunts–demons backing off from fights, angels making not-so-heavenly appearances–not to mention the more natural occurrences. And Ellen had said Ash had been tracking lightning storms, although she couldn’t explain why yet. Dean brushed away the thoughts when Sam spoke.

“It’s not gossip. At least, not all of it.” Sam’s face was drawn with lines of worry, an emotion that both concerned and comforted Dean.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone is trying to begin the Apocalypse, and I need your help to stop them.”

Dean stared at his brother, waiting for the punchline to be delivered, for Sam to backtrack and admit this had been a ruse to get Dean here. And when that didn’t happen, Dean raised his eyebrows, and asked, “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Dean stood, running a hand over his mouth. “How close is this to happening?”

“I can’t know for sure. Sixty-six seals, cosmic events, have to be broken first before Lucifer is let out of his cage. A few have been, and we’ve stopped some ourselves. But I need more feet on the ground.”

Dean was stiff and still. He knew what Sam was about to ask. “I can’t do that.”

“Dean, this is bigger than us. It’s important,” Sam said, ready with his response as if he knew how Dean would answer. 

“You think I don’t know that? But what you’re asking… I can’t get hunters to help you with this, I don’t even know if I can get _myself_ to help you.”

Sam stood, approaching Dean. “I understand your opinion of me, but this isn’t about us anymore. It’s life or death for the whole world.”

“Hunters are never going to want to help the king of _hell,_ Sam. Think about that.”

“I know, but they might want to help _you._ ”

There was a knock on the door that echoed in the thick silence that now fell between the brothers, the door swinging open before Sam could respond.

Ruby had a scowl planted on her face the second her eyes landed on Dean, and she brazenly strode into the room, aware she was intruding, coming to a stop in front of Sam. “So _this_ is who you needed to talk to?” 

Sam straightened his posture, accentuating the height difference between himself and his subject, and glared at her.

Ruby remained unaffected. “Whatever. I’m not here to talk to him anyway.”

“What _are_ you here for?”

“Remember that assignment you gave me?” Ruby asked. “Well, the assignment is complete.”

Sam shifted from annoyed to worried. “What do you mean? What happened?”

Ruby wanted to Dean to hear what she said next; he could tell by the eye contact she made just before answering Sam, and the smug look on her face.

“How would you like to meet the hunter who’s been interfering with our efforts to stop the apocalypse?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, Ruby, and Dallas collide in Hell.

You have a hunter, here, in hell?” Dean asked, his footsteps trailing Sam’s down another stone hallway.  **  
**

Sam did not answer, focused on getting to wherever he was going.

“He sure does,” Ruby answered for him, smugness lingering in her tone.

“This is  _not_ what I told you to do,” Sam said to Ruby. He stopped outside a doorway. “This one?”

Ruby narrowed her eyes and nodded her conformation.

“You put her  _here_?” 

“Chocolates on the pillows and everything.”

“Stay,” he said. Then he placed his hand on the doorknob, took a breath, and gently pushed the door open.

A short entry opened into one of multiple master suites, originally furnished with the intention of housing willing visitors, but Sam had neither found the time nor the welcome guests he had hoped, so the rooms had remained largely unused over the years. He walked into the room cautiously, as if he were intruding on someone else’s bedroom, and found the hunter in question on the floor at the foot of the bed. She hugged her knees while breathing heavily.

Dean was close behind. “Maybe let me–” 

Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him back as he quietly said, “Dean, look at her. We’re not barging in, especially not Ruby.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but backed off after seeing Sam’s stern face.

Sam dropped his hand, standing to the side as Dean left the room. When the door shut with a click of the latch, he approached the woman slowly, careful to keep his steps soft and his body in a non-threatening stance. The woman’s head remained tucked between her knees and her chest as he moved closer. Sam was now less than a foot away, and she still hadn’t stirred. He frowned, reaching out his arm and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. A jolt of something like electricity ran through his fingers at the contact.

Dallas’ head shot up and she scrambled away on her hands and feet, scooting across the abrasive floor.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled out. When her back hit a bookshelf, she stood, eyes lit up with fear.

Sam brought his hand up to his face, slowly turning it over, a set of jumbled memories that didn’t belong to him now in his mind, something like a child’s room, maybe– 

“What did you do to me?” she asked, touching the spot on her arm where he made contact.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was only checking– Wait, you felt that, too?”

Dallas blinked at Sam in confusion.

“Everything ok in here?” 

They both turned at the sound of Dean’s voice, as he’d apparently decided to ignore Sam’s order. He came through the entryway, his eyes landing on the captive woman as he stopped beside Sam. 

Her eyes went wide before she tucked away her surprise. Dean squinted at her curiously and then checked behind him to see if Ruby was the source of her shock, but there was only him.  

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said.

Dallas moved further away.

Dean took a step forward, putting his hand out in front of Sam, looking at Dallas. “This has all been a misunderstanding. No one’s going to hurt you. We’re going to let you go. Right?” He looked at his brother. 

“Yes, this is a misunderstanding,” Sam echoed.

“You’ve  _got_  to be kidding me.” 

Ruby loudly entered the room, and a glare settled in the center of Dallas’ eyes, pulling thin lines around her lips as she watched her kidnapper.

“Ruby, this is not the time,” Sam said, annoyed that no one seemed to be able to follow his orders tonight.

“Maybe we should speak, demon to demon, without any _human_  interference.” 

The word “human” was said in the same tone as profanity, and Dallas clenched her fists, reigning in a slew of expletives and her urge to punch the demon, breaking her pretty nose. She was fearless but she wasn’t stupid.

Sam’s face and neck flushed with anger. “I’m not listening to anything you have to say right now. You’re dismissed.”

Ruby looked furious. There was a second where Dallas thought she might lash out, but Sam did not waver.

Ruby’s confidence shrunk enough to make her take a step back. “My apologies, your majesty,” she forced out before turning on her heel and leaving.

Sam turned to Dallas. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he apologized.

“ _You’re_  the King of Hell?”

The question practically fell out of Dallas’ mouth, and the corner of Sam’s mouth turned up involuntarily. 

“Were you expecting someone else?”

What Dallas had  _expected_  was black eyes, maybe red, that seethed with evil, and a man that stood with more… command. But his eyes were a normal color and his stance approachable – she wouldn’t pick him out of a lineup for “most evil man alive.” But she kept her thoughts to herself as she stood frozen.

“Sam, I don’t think now is the time for conversation,” Dean said. “How about we just get her out of here?”

“I’m going to ask her some questions first.” He gestured at the woman. 

“I thought you didn’t want to keep her here?” Dean asked, visibly irritated.

“I don’t. But there are some things I would like to know, and since the opportunity has presented itself–”

Dean took a step back. “Unbelievable. And to think I believed you had changed, even just a little!”

“Dean–”

“No! You listen, and you hear this loud and clear. If you want any help from me– any at all– you let this girl go, no questions asked. You’re not keeping hunters captive while trying to get help from them, for christ’s sake!”

“I’m not keeping her captive. I just want to talk, then she is free to go.”

“How long are you planning on keeping her?”

“A few days, a week at the most.”

“I’ll stay.” Dallas’ voice had risen above the men’s bickering, and without hesitation, not giving herself a chance to second-guess the decision.

“Why?” Dean blurted out. “You don’t have to.”

Sam stood straighter, his eyes flashing with interest as the woman interacted with his brother.

Dallas crossed her arms, not saying a word.

“Fine,” Dean gave in, then pointed the rest of his response at Sam. “But I’m checking in on her in a couple of days.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Sam said. “Now, why don’t we let– I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Dallas.”

“Dallas,” Sam repeated with a polite nod, taking a second to let her name settle on his tongue. Then he turned to Dean. “Why don’t we let Dallas rest? I’m sure she’d appreciate some privacy.”

“Just one second,” Dean said, facing her. “I’m Dean, by the way.” He extended his right hand. She did not return the gesture, and he lowered his arm. “Right. Well, let me know if he gives you any trouble. You want my number or–”

“I can handle myself,” Dallas said.

“Right. Ok.” He took that as his cue to leave and walked towards the door. 

Sam followed, turning around one last time before leaving. “I’ll send someone to check on you in a few hours.”

Dallas nodded. When both men were out of sight and the door shut, Dallas frantically searched the room. She looked under the four-poster bed, behind the two armchairs, inside the armoire - her bag was nowhere to be found.

“ _Shit_ ,” she said under her breath. 

An angel blade lying out in the open, or in the hands of a demon, could be a big problem. 

When Sam returned to the main hall, Ruby sat in his throne, one leg over an arm of the chair, flipping a knife between her fingers. She looked up nonchalantly, pretending to be surprised by Sam’s entrance.

“Is your brother gone?” she asked.

Sam walked up to the platform. “Get out of my seat.” 

“Oh, your  _throne_ , you mean?” She continued playing with the knife.

“I can force you if you’d like.”

Ruby’s brow popped up. “Maybe I would.”

Sam continued the unrelenting stare.

“Fine.” Ruby swung her legs to the front of the chair and stood.

“ _What_ has gotten into you?” 

“Sorry if I question the decision to have two hunters in hell at the same time,” Ruby snapped. 

“You question my judgment?” 

“Come on, Sam. I know how you are about your brother, everyone does, and when word gets out that you’re–”

“Word isn’t going to get out. Because this stays between you and me for now. Don’t think I don’t know what could happen if the demons find out.”

“It would give them one more reason to return their allegiance to Lucifer, and we can’t have that. We need you alive, on the throne.” Ruby stepped closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, gently directing him to sit down. “ _That_ is why I’m worried about your plan.”

Sam leaned back, letting out a deep breath. “You’ve been the one person who’s had my back through all of this, and I need that trust now. I can’t do this without you.”

“I know.” She placed her hand on Sam’s, kneeling at his side, “We want the same thing, Sam, to see Hell flourish with its intended purpose. But forgive me if I don’t fully trust the humans. This plan could backfire.”

“If it does, we’ll handle it, together. But I need Dean to see my real intentions. I know he still thinks I’m evil.”

“We can’t always change what people think of us. We have to do what is best for Hell.”

Sam looked Ruby in the eyes. “Promise me you won’t interfere with this plan anymore? It’s our best shot right now.”

Ruby lowered her eyes, bowing her head. “I’m with the King, always.”

Dean rolled up to Bobby’s in the Impala the next day, and the seasoned hunter greeted Dean with a hug after he set his bag down inside the door.

“I’ll grab some beers,” he said knowingly.

Dean made his way to the parlor, clearing the coffee table of clutter just before Bobby returned with the drinks. 

He sat down in his chair, handing a beer to Dean. “So. How’d it go?”

Dean plopped onto the sofa. “Let’s see–there’s an approaching apocalypse, Ruby’s still a pain in the ass, and Sam is keeping another hunter in hell with him.” Dean swallowed a large swig of his drink, easing back into the couch cushion.

“An apocalypse?” Bobby shook his head. “Balls.”

“You don’t seem that surprised.”

“Weird things have been happening. Ellen told me she talked to you not that long ago. There’s signs in the sky. Hunters are getting into more trouble than usual. I had one ask me about you just yesterday.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t catch her name, or much of anything. Only that she needed your help with something. But she left as soon as I said you weren’t in town.”

“I’m sure she’ll catch up to me soon enough.”

“But this other hunter, is this someone already on his side?”

“No,” Dean said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what she’s doing down there. She had the chance to leave and she didn’t take it.”

“Did she seem hexed, possessed maybe?”

“Nope. But I’m going back in a couple days to check on her, and I guess talk to Sam again.” 

Bobby leaned forward, looking Dean straight in the eye. “You’re really going to help him?”

“It’s the end of the world,” Dean replied.

“But he’s the devil and all that.”

“Since when have you been calling Sam the devil?”

Bobby shrugged. “That’s what you’ve always called him.”

Dean gave Bobby a  _look_. “This arrangement is purely… strategic.”

“I thought you had a friend on the other side of things.”

“Well, he’s busy. And he hasn’t said a word about the apocalypse.”

“Plus, it’s your brother.”

Dean gave Bobby a harsher look.

Bobby put his hands up. “Alright, alright. I get it. Strictly strategic. You want me to talk to Ellen?”

“No, I’ll do that myself,” Dean said, “Once I figure out how the hell to sell this.”

“You’ve got one on the team besides yourself. You can use that.”

“You don’t have to help, really. You’ve been in this a long time. I know you’re trying to focus more on the junkyard.”

Bobby waved his hand. “Nonsense. If this is the Big One, I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”

Dean smiled, but it quickly faded. “Thanks. Most hunters are gonna douse me in holy water first, ask questions later.”

Bobby looked at him carefully, his tone serious. “And that’s if you’re lucky.”


End file.
